By evening, nothing had changed.
The hut leaked wind from every side, but no one spoke loudly. Now and then a low whisper drifted through the room.
It was time for dinner again.
The handsome boy from before brought him another plate of the black paste and set it in front of Wei. The wooden plate made a soft dull thump when it touched the floor, and that made Wei open his eyes.
The boy held a plate of his own, head lowered, eating. His movements were fast and clean, wasting nothing.
Wei studied him carefully.
The firelight caught the boy's face in profile, carving his bones into sharp, clean lines.
He was tall, his shoulders straight, his skin so pale it was almost transparent, as if sunlight had never touched him.
Or maybe there was simply no blood in his face.
Wei had to admit it: he was a beautiful boy. A quiet kind of beauty.
It was not soft, but clear, like the reflection of a bare tree on still lake.
More precisely, he was the sort of boy who looked even better than most girls.
A strand of hair fell across his cheek as he ate, casting a thin shadow.
He didn't look like someone trapped here.
He looked like someone who had long since gotten used to it.
The handsome boy shoveled the paste into his mouth, hardly chewing, swallowing fast, as if someone might snatch it from him.
"If you swallow fast," he said, catching Wei watching him and looking a little embarrassed, "the taste doesn't stay long."
Wei smiled bitterly and forced himself to lift a spoonful.
It still tasted like wet soil mixed with mold, sticking to his tongue in a thick smear.
"This stuff is awful," Wei said, studying the boy. "How do you swallow it?"
"You haven't given blood-tribute yet." The boy always smiled before he spoke to anyone. "Once you have, you'll understand."
"Blood-tribute?"
The word alone sent goosebumps up his arms.
The boy didn't look up. He kept eating. The scrape of his spoon against the rim made Wei's nerve tighten.
He realized the boy wasn't refusing to answer. He was avoiding something.
Wei's hand froze mid-scoop. His stomach rolled once, sour rising in his throat.
The feeling was familiar, almost comforting in a sick way, a reminder he was still alive.
And for one absurd second, he felt a flicker of relief.
Maybe he had bought himself one more day.
His friend was dead.His parents were gone—lost, or worse.Only he remained.
A sudden shame closed around his heart like a cold fist.
He swallowed the breath that tried to rise and pushed his bowl toward the boy across from him. He had no appetite.
The handsome boy lifted his head. In his eyes lay a trace of resignation, and beneath it, a layer of numbness worn smooth by habit. He sighed softly, almost polite. He pulled Wei's share toward himself, eating without another word.
"My name is… Minnow."
He spoke while he was still catching his breath. The hunger had eased, and only then did he remember to introduce himself. He swallowed, wiped his hands on his shirt, and reached out.
Wei looked at the offered hand.
Thin, pale, knuckles sharp.A hand that lived every day against hunger and somehow never lost.
"I'm Wei," he said.
The two young hands met.
Cold palms.Steady grip.
Neither of them knew it. In that quiet, cramped room, with the smell of paste and sweat hanging low, fate tied its first knot.
Minnow swallowed the last mouthful of the paste. He lowered his head, dipped his fingertips into the bowl of clear water, and carefully wiped the smear from the corner of his mouth.
The movement was slow. Precise. As if cleaning that single spot mattered more than anything else in the room.
Then he took a sip of water, swished it around, and cleared his mouth until it was spotless.
Wei watched him.
For the first time, he realized: Minnow was someone who clung to life with both hands. Not loudly. Not desperately. Just… with a kind of stubborn, meticulous dignity.
Around them, the other boys were little more than shadows.
Unwashed hair, clothes caked with dirt, someone scratching between his toes and lifting his fingers to sniff them before going back to it, content in his own filth.
Maybe in this ruined world, Minnow was the only one still fighting to keep the last thread of what it meant to be human.
"You…"
Wei hesitated, voice small, as if afraid sound alone might summon something.
"Can you… tell me more about the Blood-tribute?"
Minnow set the wooden bowl aside. In the dim firelight his eyes were steady, so steady it unsettled Wei.
"These things that never die," Minnow said quietly, "they stay alive by eating fresh flesh and blood."
Something sharp lodged in Wei's throat. A thorn. A nail. Something that wouldn't go down.
"You mean… we're food to them?"
"You could say that."
Minnow's tone didn't rise or fall. It was flat. Simple. Like stating the weather, or the hour.
Wei stared at him for a heartbeat, stunned.
The words "That's impossible" reached Wei's tongue, but froze there.
He didn't know if he was afraid, or if some foolish part of him still hoped Minnow would say—
I'm lying to you.
But Minnow said nothing of the sort.
Silence pressed against the walls.
Outside, footsteps dragged across the stone, slow and deliberate. The scrape of something wanted to be heard. It reminded Wei of an unseen eye, staring, waiting, telling them to behave.
He finally understood what blood-tribute meant.
"You're saying…" Wei managed, and his own voice betrayed him, trembling, "they cut pieces off us to eat?"
Minnow didn't answer right away.
He placed the empty bowl by the wall. The faint tap sounded louder than it should have.
Then he said, "There are fewer living people now. We're worth more. Only nobles get meat. Most of the time they drink blood."
He spoke quietly, calmly.That calm carried more cold than any scream could.
Wind slipped through the cracks in the wood wall. It touched Wei's skin and sank in, a thin blade easing under the ribs, cutting one inch, then another.
Wei pulled his shoulders inward.A small movement, but it felt like surrendering something.
He thought of the forest where he had hidden with his parents. They slept under roots, woke with dew on his face, warmed their hands over a tiny fire, and whispered as if the trees could hear them.
Hard days. But they had water. Warmth. Each other.
They had believed they had outrun the worst.
Only now did he understand—
The forest had been mercy. The forest had been kind.
The real abyss was here.
"You're lying!"
Wei's voice cracked out sharper than he meant.
Minnow lifted his head.
His eyes were bright, but held no light. He simply shook his head.
No words. Just that small, final gesture.
It was colder than any truth spoken aloud.